#kinky things

“Uh, excuse you,” Sam says, because Steve is not that tiny little punk anymore, and that he hasn’t yet internalized this is a little disconcerting.  “Have you seen you lately?”  Sam gestures up and down Steve’s body.  “There’s not many people out of your league.”

“No, it’s not – not like that.  He’s just so smart.  And, you know, gorgeous.”

“Okay, gonna have to stop you there, Romeo.  I am not in the mood to hear you waxing poetic about Bucky’s eyes again.  I have to live with the guy.”

Steve shrugs.  “Fine, fine.  Sorry.”  Steve finishes dressing, and slings his gym bag over his shoulder.  “He does have pretty eyes.”

“Fuck you,” Sam says. Then: “You coming over for brunch or what?”

Sighing, Steve thunks his head against the locker door again.  “Yeah. What should I bring?”

“OJ.  And bagels from the guy on -”

“Delancy, I know, I know. See you there.”

.

Brunch is an absurd affair. There are mimosas, waffles, bacon, mushroom and swiss crepes, fruit salad, biscuits with milk gravy, Bucky’s incredible blintzes with fresh strawberries and lemon ricotta, and of course, the bagels, lox and cream cheese.   Steve and Bucky are sitting on the couch, and Sam is patting his belly.

“I think I’m taking this food baby to bed.  See you all in a few hours.”

Steve’s feeling half comatose himself, but he’s also nervous, because now he’s alone with Bucky, and he’s going to make an ass of himself, he just knows it.

“Hey, thanks again for grabbing bagels,” Bucky says.

Steve cuts his eyes Bucky’s way, just for a second, before smiling.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Anytime.”

Bucky’s flipping through the channels.  He stops at CNN and they watch as a reporter covers a protest outside of an ICE detention center.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “Jesus Christ.”

Something in Steve’s gut pulls hard.  The images being shown, the sounds, none of this is the country he grew up believing in. He thinks about his grandparents, who were Irish immigrants and who didn’t exactly come the country legally.  At least centers like this didn’t exist then.

“Hey,” Steve says, because he can see Bucky getting visibly upset from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, and changes the channel to a showing of Galaxy Quest.  “Sorry,” Bucky says.  “Every time I think I can handle it, I’m wrong.  It just makes me so angry.”

“I know,” Steve says, and risks another look at Bucky.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to.  He wants to. He really wants to.

It’s just – if he looks too long, he’ll stare.  He’ll forget that Bucky isn’t actually his to look at.  Besides, when he looks at Bucky full-on, it’s sometimes like looking at the sun.  It’s too much, too bright, take in all at once.  His eyes are that shade of blue-gray that Steve is never, ever going to be able to pin down.  And his jawline, Jesus.   He wishes he was good with words like he is with paints, because that jawline is….

So Steve doesn’t really let himself look at Bucky straight on, not like he’d like to.

“So,” Bucky says, and when Steve chances a glance, he can see Bucky packing a bong.  

Now, Sam’s not much of a smoker, and Steve tried it a few times in college, but never really picked up the habit.  Bucky though, he’s a pretty regular smoker.  Steve watches his hands (his hands – god, his fingers are so gorgeous, long and slender and if he ever played the piano Steve is pretty sure he’d orgasm on the spot) as they pick the bud apart, as they clean out the bowl, and then as they pack the bowl back up.  

“You want some?” Bucky asks, picking up his lighter.

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve says. He really needs to think about getting out of there.  Now that Sam’s fucked off to have a nap, there’s no reason for him to hang around.

“You sure?” Bucky asks. “You seem tense.”

Steve listens as Bucky lights the bong and breathes deep.  For a split second, Steve is actually jealous of the bong, the smoke.   “I should go,” he says.  

“Aw, c’mon Stevie,” Bucky says, and Steve turns his head and looks at Bucky full on.  He’s wearing jeans and an old, faded t-shirt.  His long, pretty hair is bound up in a messy knot on the top of his head, and he’s looking at Steve with something like regret. There’s a haze of sweet-smelling, bluish smoke clouding around him.  He’s so beautiful it almost takes Steve’s breath away.  

“You never want to hang out with me,” he says.  “Am I too boring?”

“What?” Steve asks, the word leaving him in a huff.  “What?”

“I just,” he shrugs, “never get to hang out with Sam’s hot friend.  You never want to talk to me.”

Steve feels like his eyes are bugging out of his head. He cannot stop staring.

“I never….  I –“  He exhales, long and deep.  “I always want to talk to you,” he says, because fuck it, fuck it.  If there’s any, any chance, he has to take it.

“Oh.” Bucky says.  “But you never do.”  He looks down to where his hands are cupping the bong, the blue glass making pretty swirls.

“I didn’t…think you wanted to talk to me,” Steve says.  He feels nervy and daring, his whole body lighting up and tensing.  If he confesses his crush and it’s one-sided, that’s going to – god – make things so awkward.

Bucky stares at him, evaluating something, and then seems to come to a decision.  

“Let me shotgun you,” he says, and his voice is low and husky and it makes Steve want.

“I don’t….what?”

“D’ya just never smoke, or…?”

“I’m not opposed,” Steve says.  He has no idea where this is going.

Bucky lights the bong again. He takes a deep inhale, the water gurgling, and then sets the bong down.  

Steve watches him, can’t take his eyes off of him.  He gets up from the couch and walks to the loveseat where Steve is sitting.  Then he sits down in Steve’s lap, straddling him, looking down at him.  There’s a tendril of hair that escaped his bun and is laying against his cheek. Steve moves to brush it away, and notices his hand is shaking.

Without a word, Bucky presses his thumb on Steve’s lower lip.  He looks – god – he looks hungry.

Opening his mouth, Steve cants his head up, and waits.

Bucky doesn’t leave him waiting long.  Leaning forward, he angles his face so that their mouths are close, so close, but not touching.  As Steve watches, the smoke leaks out of Bucky’s mouth, and Steve leans forward, just that bit more, to catch it.

Their lower lips brush, and it’s  - he’s heard about kisses that are electric, how they feel like they’re lighting you on fire, from the inside out.  He’s heard about kisses like that, but he’s never actually had a kiss like that.  Not until now.

He breathes in the smoke, feels it burn, hot in his mouth, and lets it go immediately.  He cups the back of Bucky’s neck with one hand and holds onto his waist with the other, pulling him down for a kiss.  A real kiss.  A kiss that’s full of smoke and fire and promise.

Bucky’s tongue moves against his, strong and stroking, fucking into his mouth, and Steve grunts because it’s perfect and he’s  - it’s not enough and he never wants it to end.

Bucky changes the angle of the kiss, then dives back in, squirming on Steve’s lap and Steve puts both hands on Bucky’s hips, guiding him down to grind.  

He doesn’t know if it’s the pot or the kiss, but he’s dizzy and he feels like he’s flying and he is just so, so turned on.  He grinds up again and groans when he feels Bucky, hard in his jeans, grinding down.

“Jesus,” Steve says, breaking the kiss and gasping for air.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. “Been wanting you,” he says, “wanting this.”  

Steve takes the opportunity lave open mouthed kisses up and down Bucky’s neck.  “The way you – oh! – look at me sometimes.  Fuck.”

“Yes,” Steve says.  “Yes, I want – fuck.”

“Not on my couch, you’re not.”

The pair break apart and look over to where Sam is frowning at them.  

“Hi, Sam,” Steve says.

“Hi, Sam,” Bucky says.

“This is the thanks I get,” he says, one eyebrow cocked, deadpan look on his face. “You know I don’t need to see this.”

Bucky ducks his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and giggles.

Sam stares at them both, then shakes his head.  “I hate you.”

They hold each other, giggling, as Sam retreats to his room.

“Wait,” Steve says, as the giggling subsides.  “What do we need to thank him for?”

At that point, Bucky looks bashful and it’s adorable, Jesus, he’s adorable.  He mumbles something from where he’s tucked himself into Steve’s neck.  

“What was that?”

Pulling away, Bucky looks Steve in the eye.  “I said I might have asked him if he thought I had a shot with his hot, talented best friend.”

“I – you said that?” It makes Steve feel…floored with flattery, like it’s more than he knows what to do with.

Shrugging, Bucky looks around the living room, where Sam has hung several of Steve’s paintings.  There’s a couple of landscape paintings, a deli and the bridge at the park.  Not his best, but Sam loved them.

“Your work’s amazing,” Bucky says.  And then I met you, and you’re…smart.  Funny. Hot.”

Steve whimpers because he’s never had anyone say these things to him and mean them, not the way he can tell Bucky means them.  It’s overwhelming.

He pulls Bucky close, and leans up for another kiss.

“Your room?” Steve asks, breaking the kiss.

“Your place?” Bucky counters, because Steve lives alone.

“My place,” Steve replies.

Bucky stands and holds his hand out for Steve to help him up.  When he stands, he pulls Bucky close for a long, full body hug.  It feels good, just as nice as the kiss, but in a whole different way.

Nuzzling Bucky’s neck, Steve presses a kiss just below Bucky’s ear.  “I’m gonna make you loud,” he whispers.